"Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear," said the Jew, bowing with mock humility. "The Artful shall give you another suit, my dear, for fear you should spoil that Sunday one. Why didn't you write, my dear, and say you were coming?—we'd have got something warm for supper."
At this, Master Bates roared again: so loud that Fagin himself relaxed, and even the Dodger smiled, but as the Artful drew forth the five-pound note at that instant, it is doubtful whether the sally or the discovery awakened his merriment.
"Hallo! what's that?" inquired Sikes, stepping forward as the Jew seized the note. "That's mine, Fagin."
"No, no, my dear," said the Jew. "Mine, Bill, mine. You shall have the books."
"If that ain't mine!" said Sikes, putting on his hat with a determined air,—"mine and Nancy's, that is,—I'll take the boy back again."
The Jew started, and Oliver started too, though from a very different cause, for he hoped
